


no enemies to call my own

by vrooom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blackwatch Era, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrooom/pseuds/vrooom
Summary: “Jesse McCree,” Gabriel says, calling up the file on his datapad again. “Seventeen years old and you’ve already built up quite the reputation. You got anything to say for yourself?”“It’s how you survive,” McCree spits back, defiant. “When there’s no one looking out for you but yourself, ya gotta do what it takes.”





	no enemies to call my own

At 0530, the air is already scorching hot. Gabriel’s been holed up all night in his makeshift office at the diner trying to reconcile the last of the paperwork before his team starts transport for the gang members he’s rounded up in the raid.

There’s a couple of members he still hasn’t tracked down; they were out of the country on some Deadlock business and his jurisdiction doesn’t extend beyond the United States. Gabriel makes a mental note to delegate cleanup to someone else.

He sighs and absentmindedly pulls a straw out of the stand to chew on. His cigars ran out three days ago, and there isn’t a place in this damn gorge where he can dig up some more. Besides, it’s not like he even smoked them. Ana had gotten on his case about it again three months ago, and he’d only chewed on them since. A straw would be fine.

The air, dry and dusty in the early morning, swirls in just ahead of an agent.

“Chan, you finally got that authorization from command?” Gabriel asks, shaking off his idle thoughts. “Only been waiting all night for someone to get out of their bed and approve that transport request.”

“Right here, Commander,” Chan says, saluting and handing over the datapad. They look tired, uniform dusty and torn from the firefight the night before. Gabriel thinks that they could use some rest, hopefully soon depending on the authorization that’s on the datapad.  “Got it ten minutes ago.”

“Thanks.” Gabriel nods his dismissal. “Oh, before you go, there’s some eggs and bacon in the fridge behind the counter. Get some food that isn’t those goddamn MREs in you before you head out. There should be enough for the rest of the squad too.”

Chan’s face breaks out in a wide grin. They bound over the countertop to look in the fridge. Gabriel turns back to the datapad as the smell of sizzling bacon wafts in his direction.

The transport is due to arrive at 0800 from Watchpoint Grand Mesa, where the prisoners will be held pending their transfer to the United States ATF. Upon transfer, the prisoners will stand trial, at which point they’ll no longer Overwatch’s responsibility.

Gabriel snorts softly as he reads through. Jack won’t be too happy about that, given the amount of resources that Overwatch had put into the operation, but that’s how it always goes. Overwatch does the work, and member countries reap the benefit.

Gabriel scans through the list of prisoners as the _clink_ of a plate announces the arrival of his food. He lifts his head up and gives a rare smile to Chan. “Appreciate it,” he says, picking up the fork to poke at the eggs. He lifts his datapad to read again, scooping up soft egg yolk to shovel in his mouth. Gabriel double-checks his list. “Did they also send you the background check I requested?” he asks, looking over to the grill.

Chan nods. “It’s the next attachment in the datapad sir.” Their hands are busy, loading up a couple of trays with the biggest mountain of eggs, bacon, and bread that Gabriel’s seen outside of any Watchpoint cafeteria kitchen.

Gabriel opens up the next attachment to skim through.

The file is thin, just like he expected.

The subject was born to a family a few hundred miles away—lost his parents to opioids, then was shuttled from relative to relative for a few years before running away. He ended up in the Deadlock gang, doing the occasional odd job before moving on to some small-to-mid range deals and becoming a proficient marksman with—he squints, not sure he’s reading correctly—a revolver?

Gabriel snorts, flipping rapidly through the rest of the file. Nothing else of interest. From the looks of things, the subject had been impressionable, young and easily led astray by the gang before his criminal life came abruptly to a halt the night before.

“Agent,” he calls, right as Chan is about to step outside. “Make up another plate and leave it with me. I’ll be checking in on our youngest prisoner. Have the team start breaking everything down after they eat. Transport comes at 0800 sharp.”

Chan does as they’re told, then turns back outside, hands full. Gabriel finishes his paperwork and eats the rest of his bacon before stretching, glad to finally get out of the sticky booth he’s been in since early last night. The coffee is cold, but no loss there. He has the distinct impression that the owner of Big Earl’s had just dug dirt up from the gorge and added water to make it.

Steeling himself for the heat, he grabs the extra plate left on the countertop/

Nodding to the guards outside the makeshift holding cell, Gabriel waits as they scan his retina and place his thumb on the proffered pad. Then he walks in and sets the plate down in front of the prisoner, surveying him with interest.

The prisoner’s definitely seen some better days. His hair is matted and clumped in oil, grease, and blood. He’s tall, though underfed and lanky, slouching sullenly against his chair looking up at Gabriel as he walks in.

At some point in the night, he had ripped his pants and there’s a long scratch on his calf that’s slowly oozing blood. It’ll get looked at once he gets on base, Gabriel decides.

“Eat this,” Gabriel says to him. “We have some things to discuss.”

The prisoner glares at him suspiciously, but the smell of food is too powerful for him to ignore. He falls hungrily on the eggs, chains clanking as he shoves forkful after forkful of food into his mouth. He bends down close to the table to eat, mobility hobbled by the short length of chain that cuffs his hands to the table. Gabriel watches impassively, slightly repulsed by how quickly and messily the prisoner eats, waiting until the prisoner has eaten every stray scrap of egg before he talks.

“Jesse McCree,” Gabriel says, calling up the file on his datapad again. “Seventeen years old and you’ve already built up quite the reputation. You got anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s how you survive,” McCree spits back, defiant. “When there’s no one looking out for you but yourself, ya gotta do what it takes.”

Gabriel grunts, unimpressed. “So ‘what it takes’ is helping facilitate a couple of large illicit international arms deals including,” he flips a few pages, “omnic extremists in the United Kingdom, a couple of small time yakuza clans that have no business moving that amount of product, and a drug cartel that overrun a village in the south of Mexico? Pretty busy for only a regional gang, and pretty disastrous.”

He looks McCree over flatly. He’s disgusted at how easily McCree justifies his actions, uncaring of the consequences borne by others. “You know that village? Nice and quiet, mostly orchards, a little bit of wheat. Good place to live in, if you ignore the cartel a few miles down the road, like most people did. An honest community, trying their best to survive.” Gabriel’s voice hardens. “It’s gone now. Been razed to the ground because you were just trying to survive. Here, take a look.”

Gabriel throws up holograms from the datapad and watches as McCree looks at the pictures, trying to gauge his reaction. McCree is mulish at first, defensive and surly as he goes through the first picture, then the next, and the next. Looking through the smoky charred remains of the village, McCree slowly looks horrified and finally faintly sick.

McCree seems to remember he’s not alone in the room. He hastily rearranges his face in an approximation of the same stubborn aggression he wore before, but Gabriel doesn’t miss the way McCree’s gaze keeps flitting back to the pictures.

“Your actions have consequences,” Gabriel says finally, when McCree says nothing. He gestures towards the pictures. “Age seventeen is awfully close to being an adult. Could be tried as one, especially when it comes to supplying arms for a conflict that kills three hundred and displaces another seven hundred. You know what the sentence is for just one count of international arms dealing?”

McCree looks anxious, a faint sheen appearing on his forehead. “You’d be going to supermax prison for life,” Gabriel goes on, “the number of deals you have on your record. Maybe you’d get one lifetime sentence instead of multiple, if you sell your friends out before they do the same to you.”

“You don’t know that!” McCree shouts, looking angry and panicked in equal parts. “The guys wouldn’t do that to me. We’re a family and we stick together.”

Gabriel grins, baring teeth. “Look kid,” he says evenly. “That family of yours? Gave you up before the sun even rose today. No one gives a shit about you. Not the gang, not whoever tries you, not anyone else in the world. That’s how the world is when you’ve made it a worse place to live in.”

He plants his arms down on the table, bringing himself down to McCree’s eye level. “Kid, you clearly feel guilty about what you’ve done. You’ve gotta find some morals and stand up for yourself. If you believe in something, then you gotta _fight_ for it. Not just hide out in a corner licking your wounds because you think no one’s got your back.”

“Yeah? And where exactly am I going to learn these morals?” McCree challenges him. “Gonna find those on the first day in supermax facing down three lifetime sentences getting ripped apart by the gang?” He spits to the side, barely missing Gabriel’s boot. “No thanks.”

Gabriel slams his hands down on the table. “No, dumbass. I’m offering you a spot in Overwatch.”

McCree’s eyes widen briefly before hardening again. “Yeah, as a janitor or something? Armed guards watching 24/7 to make sure the little gang boy doesn’t kill everyone in their sleep? No thanks. I’d rather rot.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gabriel sighs, then surreptitiously checks the time. Forty-five minutes until the transport arrives and he still needs to make sure that his team is ready to leave. He didn’t think McCree would take this long.

“Look, kid. This is my offer. Join Overwatch and you can do something good with those sharpshooter skills of yours and protect people instead of hurting them. You’ll report to me and I’ll train you personally. You have good instincts and the skills to match, which is why I’m even entertaining the thought of fighting command on this. And you’re still young.” Gabriel shakes his head. “I sure as hell didn’t inadvertently blow up a village by the time I was seventeen, but we’ve all made mistakes and we all deserve the chance to try again.”

Gabriel checks his watch again, this time for show. “If you agree to join Overwatch, I’ll take care of your criminal record. I’ll have your juvenile file sealed. Your service record with Overwatch will be the only thing that matters. A fresh start. I’ll make sure that you have a place to sleep, food to eat, and training to make you one of the best. It’ll be hard work, and sometimes you’ll regret it, but I’ll push you to be one of the best by the time you’re through. You have two minutes to think on this offer.”

Gabriel glances down at the datapad, giving McCree freedom to think. He’s barely opened a message from Ana on vacation in Canada before McCree decides.

“I’m joining Overwatch,” McCree says, soft and shaky. His forehead is glistening with sweat.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m joining Overwatch,” McCree says louder—still shaky, but resolute.

“I’m joining Overwatch, _Sir_ ,” Gabriel corrects him, bending to unlock the cuffs on McCree’s wrists and ankles. He gives McCree the barest shadow of a smile. “Welcome to Overwatch, kid.”

Then he walks out, leaving the door open as he passes through.

McCree follows.

 

* * *

 

This mission was shot to shit in a million ways before they even got to the warehouse.

The intel had been completely wrong, leading the team to a conspicuous place with no cover. The new safe-house had been compromised before they even arrived, with a mysterious thief stealing all of the surveillance equipment they’d needed for additional reconnaissance. Without the recon, three of the five members of the team had died on the way into the warehouse, forcing Gabriel and McCree to weigh their bodies and sink them into the bay for later retrieval.

_Overwatch command has a lot to answer for when I get back_ , Gabriel thinks grimly to himself as he finishes copying intel onto the chip.

If _I get out_ , he corrects himself. He peers carefully through a small window in the door to find six people milling around, waiting for them to come out. _Damn_ , he thinks. That had been the most direct escape route. Now he would have to rely on a more circuitous avenue, potentially with more guards in the way.

“Agent, come in,” Gabriel whispers as he makes his way towards the door set on the opposite wall. He peers out cautiously before going through, calling up the warehouse’s layout in his mind. “McCree.”

Along with the surveillance equipment, the thief had stolen the long-range comms devices that Blackwatch normally relied on for missions. Gabriel and McCree had been forced to improvise with less sophisticated short-range devices, but that meant that Gabriel still had a way to go before he could get in range of McCree.

Behind him, Gabriel hears muffled shouts as the guards at the other door lose patience and come into the room, only to discover that he’s already gone. He walks faster, eating the ground up in long strides as he navigates the twists and turns of the brightly lit sterile hallways.

“Hey you! Stop right there!” comes a voice from the left. Gabriel ignores the shout and turns the corner, breaking into a run. “Intruder at my location!” He navigates a maze of hallways and dead-ends as the shouts grow fainter in the distance, then checks to make sure the data chip is still safe in his tac vest.

“Checking in, boss.” Gabriel’s earpiece crackles to life with the sound of McCree’s voice.

“Copy.”

“That took longer than expected.”

“Had to take a couple of extra turns to throw people off. What’s your status McCree?”

“Already here, scoping it out. Remember how we thought that huge space at the edge of complex would be empty? Turns out it’s a fulfillment center of some type. It’s filled with packing pallets of electronics.”

“Would have been a pain in the ass to get through empty or full,” Gabriel responds. “I’m approaching the southeast door, ETA two minutes. Any movement?”

“No,” says McCree. “It’s a little _too_ quiet, if you know what I mean.”

Gabriel does. He makes his way to through the warehouse in silence, then opens up the door, meeting McCree on the other side.

“Hey boss,” McCree nods at him. “Listen.”

They both fall silent as Gabriel strains to hear anything.

“You hear that?” McCree whispers. “Nothing. I’ve been here forty minutes, should have been a guard change by now and there hasn’t been any sound, movement, nothing. I’m getting real suspicious about everything.”

Gabriel nods.

“Definitely something wrong here,” he agrees. “Guards didn’t even bother chasing me that hard, like they knew there was gonna be something else to stop me.” Gabriel starts walking to the opposite side of the cavernous room, staying close to the wall. “Our transport should still be hidden outside the northwest door. Once we get th-”

Just as he reaches the halfway point in the room, a door in the far wall opens and bodies pour through it in an unending stream. The lights flicker on, bathing the room in bright white light. Cursing quietly, Gabriel grabs McCree and hurries into an aisle, shielding themselves slightly behind some crates.

“How are you on ammo?” Gabriel hisses, checking his shotguns over. He loads fresh shells and looks to his side.

“Doing good, got enough for, uh, 42 on my own,” McCree says, checking his gun over.

“Don’t overestimate your ability to hit shots,” Gabriel scolds him. “I’ve told you about that how many times before?”

“All right, I got seven clips,” McCree whispers back, rolling his eyes. “Good enough?”

Gabriel peeks over the crate. “Yeah,” he says, gauging the distance between them and the door. The guards come closer, not bothering to keep their voices down as they search aisle by aisle. There must be at least fifty guards, all armed to the teeth.

“Not exactly the way I thought I would be spending my 25th birthday,” McCree says. He checks his revolver again and runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that he can’t shake.

“I’ll buy you a drink to make up for it,” Gabriel says, eyeing the guards. They’re close now, just in range of McCree’s pistol. “You ready?”

“Got your back, boss,” McCree replies, cocking the hammer.

Gabriel hesitates before coming in close and kissing McCree hard on the lips. Just as quickly as he started, he stops and looks at McCree. “Happy birthday, Jesse. Just in case we don’t make it.”

Jesse grins. “Thanks Gabe.”

“Cover me!” Gabriel yells over his shoulder as the first guards round the corner.

Jesse lays down cover fire, following behind.

 

* * *

 

“It’s been four days,” Gabriel says to the lump on the floor.

“Mngh,” the lump says in response. At least, that’s what Gabriel thinks the lump says, muffled by a red serape.

“It’s been _four days_ ,” Gabriel repeats for emphasis. “You haven’t slept in four days.”

“I’m aware,” Jesse says, ripping the serape off his head. “Believe me, I am so aware of this fact. I’m fucking hyperaware. I can feel it pounding through my head with every heartbeat. I think I almost dozed off until you opened the door.” He glares blearily up at Gabriel, imperiously ignoring the fact that he’s on the floor and doesn’t look particularly menacing.

Jesse looks terrible.

The bags under his eyes, never fully gone, are darker than ever. His lids are heavy. His entire face is ashen, the color and golden vitality draining away the longer he goes without sleep. He looks, in short, like death warmed over.

Gabriel sighs. “Babe, at least get comfortable before you try to sleep. Why are you still in full tac gear? You wanna sabotage yourself?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” In what seems like a herculean amount of wasted effort, Jesse rolls over and flops onto his belly. Gabriel is reminded vividly of the way his childhood pet box turtle would retract into its shell when stressed as Jesse buries his face into Blackwatch standard issue short pile carpet.

“Babe, it’s already 2200. I didn’t even think you were going to be here. You normally like to sleep in your own bed the night before missions don’t you? You’re out at 0600 tomorrow; are you okay to go on the mission?” Gabriel is concerned. Jesse was supposed to be leading the team tomorrow on a quick extraction mission for an asset, but maybe Shimada could lead in his place.

There’s no answer save for soft breathing.

“Jesse McCree, are you listening to me?” Gabriel asks sternly, a hint of Commander Reyes shining through.

“Go away and let me die in peace,” Jesse moans. “I already feel like I’m dying, just let me die.”

Gabriel heaves a sigh, exasperated but still worried. Jesse’s had insomnia for a while, and he usually prefers to stay up and run through drills or study for his degree rather than lie awake in bed fruitlessly. This spell is worse than others. Jesse has never stayed up four nights in a row before. Today would be his fifth.

“Hey Jesse, sweetheart,” Gabriel cajoles. He lies down on the floor next to Jesse, making him scoot over to make room. He lies on his side, facing him. Reluctantly, Jesse turns to face him back.

Gabriel smiles.

Unable to help himself, Jesse smiles back. His tired eyes crinkle up, full lips upturning just a little.

“There we go,” Gabriel says, still smiling. He scoots in closer, motioning for Jesse to lift his head so he can put the bunched up serape under both of their heads. It envelops him in Jesse’s scent: cigar smoke and the smell of detergent warmed through by Jesse’s body. “If you don’t sleep tonight, I’m gonna have to take you off the mission for tomorrow. Your reaction times are slower already, and I don’t know what your decision making capabilities are like either.”

Jesse doesn’t say anything as he stares vacantly at a point beyond Gabriel’s shoulder.

Gabriel waits patiently, enjoying the closeness of their shared space. He prods Jesse after a few minutes. “Babe, you hear me? I might have Shimada lead the mission instead and have you sit this one out.”

“Hmm?” Jesse asks. “Sorry Gabe, I’m just really tired. Yeah, might not be a bad idea for Genji to lead. His instincts are good and the mission is practically routine for him now.” His eyes flutter closed again for a few seconds before popping open again. “His instincts are good. He’ll be fine,” he repeats himself, nodding.

“I know he’ll be fine, that’s why I suggested it,” Gabriel replies, amused. “I am still Blackwatch Commander after all.”

“Mmm, I know,” Jesse mumbles, eyes closed. “My Blackwatch Commander. My Gabe.”

“Your Gabe needs you to take off your tac gear,” Gabriel says dryly. “He wants to go to bed.”

“Oh?” Jesse opens his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Bed you say?”

“No stupid, not sex. Real bed? For sleeping? Besides, it feels like I’d be taking advantage of you while you’re sleep deprived.” Gabriel gets to his feet, holding his hands out to Jesse. “But first you need to take off your gear and shower. Come on.”

Jesse pouts at him, tired by the athletic display in front of him. “If I get up, will you at least kiss me?” he asks hopefully, stretching his arm out lazily to brush against Gabriel’s knee.

“Yes,” Gabriel promises. “If you get up, I will give you a kiss. And if you shower, I will give you another one. And if you get into bed with me tonight and agree to let Genji take over for tomorrow’s mission, I’ll give you another kiss.”

“Really?” Jesse bounds to his feet. He throws his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders and kisses deep and slow, lazily trying to draw him into an extended session.

Gabriel pulls himself back, raising a brow. “That was a hell of a lot more than one kiss,” he says, trying to look stern as Jesse whines, disappointed.

“Nah, that was one kiss. And I still get two more,” Jesse says, heading towards the shower.

“You didn’t agree to the mission!” Gabriel calls out, rolling his eyes

“Oh yeah,” Jesse says. He turns around and comes back to Gabriel. “I was gonna make Genji do all the work anyway while I supervised.” He puckers up his lips expectantly at Gabriel, demanding and pleading at the same time.

Gabriel rolls his eyes again. He loops his arm around Jesse’s waist, drawing him in close for a quick peck on the lips before pushing him away.

“Hey!” Jesse protests indignantly. “You call that a kiss?”

“Two down, one to go,” Gabriel informs him. “You stink.”

Mock grumbling, Jesse makes his way back to the shower as Gabriel looks at his retreating back fondly.

Gabriel grabs his comm device and messages Genji to let him know the change in plans, then pushes his morning meetings to the afternoon. It’s been a while since he got to sleep in, and it’s time to take advantage of being Blackwatch Commander. He gets into bed and waits.

Jesse comes out, toweling his hair. He sees Gabriel already in bed and grins sleepily, falling into Gabriel’s open arms.

 

* * *

 

“You should resign,” Gabriel says one night. He’s bravely attempting to tackle the paperwork that practically all of Blackwatch had urged him a secretary could do. Stubbornly, Gabriel insists on doing all of his own paperwork, to make sure he always knows what’s going on in the organization.

Jesse is sitting on the bed helping him finish up the worst of the paperwork before he goes to sleep. “Darling, how do you think we should report this one? It’s going straight to the Security Council in a public session and we can’t really say we killed the prime minister.”

“We can and we will, with the amount of proof we pulled out of the database he stored on a government storage system, the moron,” Gabriel says dryly. “But did you hear me Jesse?”

Jesse looks up. “Huh? Sorry, I’ve been trying to finish this last thing before I knock out. What’s up?”

Gabriel puts his paperwork down. He rubs his eyes to buy some time, sighing in satisfaction as he stretches and feels his back pop. “I was saying that you should resign.” Gabriel looks Jesse squarely in the eye.

Jesse looks dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing silently before he finds his voice.

“Is this about my job performance? Didn’t meet my numbers for the annual review? Stewart trying to replace me as second in command? You tired of me?”

Jesse’s trying but failing to keep things lighthearted.

Gabriel smiles, setting his datapad down.

“No babe,” Gabriel reassures him, quickly moving over to the bed to give him a hug. He kisses Jesse, soft and slow. Jesse is still stiff with suspicion, unyielding as Gabriel trails kisses up his cheek, cupping Jesse’s face and stroking through his beard soothingly with his thumb. Jesse eventually relents, turning his face into Gabriel’s for a quick kiss.

“Then what’s going on?” Jesse asks. “You can’t spring stuff like that on a man and not expect him to start jumping to conclusions.”

Gabriel sighs. “Remember when Shimada left last year?” He looks at the paperwork that’s still left to do, then shrugs and sets it aside.

“Yeah,” Jesse nods. “He wanted to go find some peace.”

“Right around the same time, I started finding some interesting paperwork shoved in among the stuff in the ‘Already Approved’ pile. Jack didn’t know anything about it either. I’ve been keeping a close eye on it, but all I’m seeing are a lot of unfamiliar faces with approvals coming either directly from the Security Council or from important looking people that don’t return calls.”

“A lot of suspicious stuff going on, and I want to get down to the bottom of this.” Gabriel takes Jesse’s hand in his, brushing his thumb back and forth against his knuckles. “I want you to get out while you can, Jesse.”

“Been getting some weird feelings from new recruits,” Jesse concurs. “Was planning on talking to you about it soon, but I wanted something more concrete than just a hunch before i brought it to you.”

Gabriel smiles. “Good instincts. But it’s getting more dangerous. That mission with the three casualties last week? Notice all of them were long time members and the new recruits came away with not even a scratch?”

Jesse frowned. “You’re right. Don’t know how that grab my attention but that sure is mighty suspicious.”

“I need to know you’re safe before I can put my plan into motion,” Gabriel says. “I’m only going to need a year. Just another year and then we can settle down like you’ve always talked about. Three dogs, four cats, and a huge backyard somewhere warm and sunny? We can do that.”

Jesse squints, suspicious. “A year? And then you’re done? Say I agree to this, which, to be clear, I do not. We gonna keep in contact? How do I know that you’re safe?”

“Radio silence,” Gabriel replies immediately. “If it’s what I think it is, I have to look like I have no support system left. Gotta look desperate, at the end of my rope. That’s what’s gonna get them crawling out of the shadows and ready to pounce. You’re going to have to trust me that I’ll be safe.”

Gabriel finishes lamely, aware how weak his response is.

Jesse pulls his hand away. He gets up, pacing agitatedly at the foot of their bed. “You’re not doing much to convince me,” Jesse finally says.

“I know,” Gabriel says. “All I can ask you to do is trust me. I don’t think I’ve led you wrong yet, and I promise that I won’t now. There’s something wrong at the very root of Blackwatch and even Overwatch, and I just need one year to clean it out as much as I can before I leave.”

Jesse sighs. He scrubs his hands through his hair, making it stand straight up in his frustration.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay. I trust you Gabriel, have since the day that I met you. I’m trusting you again, but you have to promise me that we’ll be together after this. No more missions keeping us apart, no more office politics, nothing. Just you, me, and the freedom to do what we want.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel promises instantly. He holds out his hand, inviting Jesse to sit down with him again. “Yeah, I promise.”

Jesse sits, sighing heavily. “Okay, I’ll resign.” He leans against Gabriel, silently demanding to be held. Gabriel holds him against his chest, sighing in relief as he kisses Jesse’s neck. He’s suddenly tired, released from the tension of the conversation.

“I’ve always wanted to travel the world,” Jesse says dreamily. “Not in the dead of night for ops. Seeing towns during the day, taking pictures of my food, going to bed late and waking up even later.”

“We can do that,” Gabriel agrees amiably. “Got that Major’s pension from the Army still. It’s been collecting while I’ve been in Overwatch through some special arrangement with the brass that I didn’t really pay attention to. My financial advisor has been stashing it away and there’s more than enough to travel for a bit before we settle down.”

“Mmm,” Jesse says. “Remember that little village in Germany? The one we had our first date at. We escaped there after the mission went to hell, holed up there for a few days at the inn.”

Gabriel grunts in agreement, half asleep.

“I’d like to stop by there first,” Jesse continues. “We’ll meet there in a year’s time.”

Gabriel wakes up to an urgent message on his datapad. It’s a message from Jesse.

  

> _Dear Commander Reyes,_  
> 
> _Please accept this letter as formal notification that I am resigning from my position as Squad Leader at Blackwatch effective immediately. I thank you for the opportunities this job has presented me._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Jesse McCree_

 

* * *

 

Jesse is in Cambodia when he hears the news.

Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, heroes of the Omnic Crisis, current leaders of Overwatch and Blackwatch, are dead.

Funeral to be held in Geneva, Switzerland in a week’s time.

Jesse makes his way slowly towards Geneva, stopping along the way to swipe bottles of whatever he can find to drink on top of the hypertrain to Europe. He’s not sure if he want to feel the warmth of drink curling low in his belly to anchor him to reality, or if he wants to slide off the hypertrain, loose limbed and bright eyed as he looks up at the stars in the clear night sky.

Between the constant drinking and ducking out of sight every time he sees a uniform, not wanting to see or be seen by Overwatch, it takes Jesse three and a half weeks to stumble into Geneva. Sleet falls heavily down on him as he gingerly slides off the roof of the hypertrain.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” Jesse asks the woman in the Overwatch uniform in front of the remains of the Swiss HQ atrium. She looks at him, smile ready.

“Yes, how can I help you sir?” she asks. She looks young, maybe twenty or so.

“I heard about the Strike Commander’s death and I’m real sorry,” Jesse says. “I wanted to pay my last respects to him if it’s possible?”

She looks at him regretfully. “Unfortunately, the ceremony at Geneva was three and a half weeks ago. The Strike Commander and the Commander’s bodies were transferred to Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia, in the United States to be laid to rest.”

“Oh,” Jesse says. He didn’t know what to expect, he thinks vaguely, but he didn’t expect this to happen. “Thank you,” Jesse says numbly. After all that, he turns to go.

Jesse takes another three days to arrive in Virginia and makes his way towards Arlington. He’s clean-shaven by then, tugging surreptitiously on his cheap suit as he walks past rows and rows of graves blanketed in thick layers of snow. The main roads are cleared off, and he walks towards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers to put off the inevitable.

He sits on the steps, keeping vigil with the soldiers for a while. He thinks of the agents he’s lost during his time in Blackwatch and sends a quick prayer up to whatever god might be listening. The cold seeps into his bones, but he resists drinking and steels himself. With a nod to the soldiers, he strolls off again, ready as he’ll ever be.

Jack and Gabriel are buried next to each other, on a large plot of land that’s covered in scaffolding. There’s probably going to be some memorial built to the greatest heroes in modern history, and Jesse’s privately glad he came before he could see it. The grave markers are blanketed in a thick layer of snow, and Jesse moves to brush off the first one.

HERE LIES JACK MORRISON, the first one proclaims. _And good riddance_ , Jesse think sourly. He snorts at himself in disgust at the uncharitable thought. Ana would’ve boxed his ears for that. However much he personally disliked the man, he had served honorably and did some good things while he was alive, and now he’s dead. At the very least, Jesse decides, he let Gabriel run Blackwatch the way he wanted, with minimal interference. Jesse raises his flask silently in a toast and pours out a small amount over his grave.

At last, he turns to Gabriel’s gravestone. He brushes it off slowly, trying to steady his shaking hand by drinking deeply. It has the opposite effect. The inscription on Gabriel’s cross is much more reserved, MAJ REYES in clear block letters. Jesse almost forgets, sometimes, that Gabriel was a Major before he joined Overwatch. He forgets that there was a whole life before he met Commander Reyes.

“Well,” Jesse starts. “Well here we are.”

He looks around. There’s no one near him and the noise is muffled by a carpet of snow.

“You always did tell me that I was gonna live longer than you,” Jesse says conversationally. He’s staring down at the cross, imagining Gabriel staring back up at him. “I didn’t think so, to be honest. I smoked, I drank, I never did as much cardio as you wanted me to. And you? You were perfect and ate right and did the right things and you almost never got wounded in battle. Plus that SEP stuff. I thought you were going to live forever and look damn gorgeous too.”

Jesse smiles bitterly.

“But I guess you were right, like you always are. You always were too smug, whenever you got things right. It was cute, you know? Your eyes narrowed into little slits of happiness, just like a cat,” Jesse continues. He’s drained of the nervous energy that brought him here, and he’s left feeling tired in its wake. He clears off a patch of ground to sit on. He’s level with the cross now, and it’s somehow easier to talk to.

“I hate to speak ill of the dead,” he says. “But fuck you, Gabriel Reyes. Fuck you. You told me to get out, and I did. I trusted you. You told me you were getting out in a year, for me to wait for you. You told me you would find me. I waited for you, Gabe. I did. I went to that little town in Germany and waited for a week. Damn near blew out my savings in the process. I left clues all over that town just in case you came after I left and you needed to find me next. I waited three years and the only word I get is that you _died_?”

Jesse is dimly aware that his voice is rising shrilly and that he’s a few seconds away from attracting attention to himself. He stops abruptly. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, inhales, then exhales. He opens his eyes.

“Ever since that first day, I’ve been following around on your heels like a lovesick puppy,” Jesse says, calm once more. “I followed you into Overwatch, I followed you into Blackwatch, hell I followed you even after I got this damn arm blown off. I followed you because I trusted you. I believed in you and I would do anything for you.”

He laughs mockingly at himself.

“On the train ride here, I considered it, y’know. I considered following you one last time. It wouldn’t have taken much, just one shot and it would have all been over.” Jesse taps his temple with his metal arm, feeling the revolver secreted within clank gently. He gets up.

“But this time? It’s your turn to wait.” Jesse shakes out the serape he was sitting on folding it up neatly and placing it at the head of the grave. “I’ll see you later, darling. I still got some work left to do.”

With one final pat to the tombstone, Jesse walks towards the cemetery exit.

He doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

When Jesse finds out that Jack and Winston have Gabriel in custody, he goes immediately to the holding cell and glares, angry and hurt.

“So what you’re telling me is that you’ve been a double agent the entire time?” Jesse hisses, nearly apoplectic. “You didn’t tell me that you already knew about the agents, that you were going to stage an _explosion_ at the headquarters, that you were to leave me to wait for you?”

Jesse breaks off furiously, breathing heavily through his nose.

Gabriel sits in the corner of the cell and waits for him to finish. He’s patient and after all these years, he knows when Jesse gets into a mood, it’s better for him to let Jesse get it all out.

“You didn’t even _think_ to hint at me that you weren’t dead? I thought I was hallucinating, going out of my mind when you showed up in your damn stupid cloak with your shotguns moving and fighting exactly how I remembered,” Jesse continues, pacing back and forth angrily.

“You promised that you’d have my back. You did for so long, and then suddenly you were gone. I didn’t know what to do, after that. I had to learn to look over my own shoulder these past few years because I couldn’t trust anyone else. Not the way that I trusted you.”

Jesse slumps down on the bench in front of Gabriel’s cell. “I’m done talking,” he says, tipping his head back against the wall. He curls his lip, looking down his nose at Gabriel and sneering. “Now it’s time for you to talk.”

Gabriel shifts, getting up to look at Jesse.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “Any chance of getting some water?” he rasps.

Jesse grunts, getting up to pass his canister through the bars. Their fingers touch, and Jesse pulls away quickly to sit back down again. He leans his head back against the wall once more and waits as Gabriel drinks.

“Thanks,” he says, putting the canister down carefully on Jesse’s side of the bars. Gabriel cracks his knuckles to fill the silence, unsure of what to say first.

“I know this doesn’t change anything,” he begins softly. “But I really missed you while I was away. I thought about you every day.”

Jesse snorts softly. He can’t help the way that the admission warms his heart, makes his insides feel a little lighter. He tries not to let it show, schooling his features into anger and hurt.

“It was my idea,” Gabriel tells him. “I approached Jack about it maybe six months before I asked you to resign. Talon had infiltrated Overwatch to an alarming extent. Remember Stewart?”

Jesse sits up, shocked. “Our third in command was Talon?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel nods. “She’d been Talon from the very beginning, eight years ago when she first signed up. That whole dead family sob story wasn’t real. Sure did fool all of us, though, me included.”

“You know about the operatives I found suspicious and that I went to Jack about them. What you didn’t know is that we decided to give whoever it was a reason to show their hand by starting to fight in public, disagree on things within earshot of everyone in the base, and stop sending out missions. That actually had the secondary effect of saving our remaining loyal operatives’ lives, since so many ops were coming back with heavy veteran agent casualties.”

Gabriel stops, stooping to get more water. He unscrews the cap and drinks, throwing his head back to catch the last of the drops. Jesse watches the long line of his throat bob as he drinks, unable to help himself. He gets up, grabbing the canister and turning away to fill it up, composing himself.

When he comes back, he sets the water back down in front of the cell. He sits, and he waits.

“I did plan to quit Overwatch the year after you did,” Gabriel continues. “I was gonna quit after I escalated with Jack, and then I was gonna hand in a public resignation in the middle of the Swiss HQ atrium. But we overestimated how eager Talon would be to unveil their plans. By the time a year swung around, Jack and I had already scaled down our fighting and instead looked into me becoming a double agent. Only he and I knew about it, and it was supposed to be a backup plan only if our original plan didn’t cause Overwatch to implode with Talon’s fingerprints all over it.”

Gabriel signs heavily. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking every one of his 58 years.

“Stewart approached me a year and a half after you left, heavily hinting that it would be worth my while if I came to a meeting later in the year with one of her superiors. I’d been publicly disgruntled and arguing with Jack by then, and Talon figured it was time I would be seduced by money and power and a hell of a lot less oversight and paperwork than in Blackwatch.” Gabriel grins suddenly. “Never did get that secretary, even after you left.”

Jesse snort, louder. “Didn’t think you would’ve. You always were stubborn.”

“Coming from you? That’s practically a compliment.”

The atmosphere is noticeably less tense, and Jesse leans forward, eager to know what happens next.

“So you got in with Talon?” Jesse asks. “How’d you do that when we’ve assassinated so many of their top lieutenants?”

“Simple,” Gabriel replies. “I gave them intel.”

“You gave them intel?” Jesse asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Gabriel confirms. “I gave them good intel until they trusted my tactical abilities and then started feeding them bad intel. Blamed it on Jack, on the rift between us and really worked that distrust angle. They bought it eventually and I became part of their inner circle. I learned as much as I could and contacted Jack, who had helped Winston revive Overwatch by then, and arranged for extraction.” He spreads his hands out, indicating the room and Jesse. “And here I am.”

“And here you are,” Jesse agrees. He pulls out a cigarillo to chew on, raising it up to Gabriel in silent inquiry.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Nah, finally gave it up a while ago. ‘Sides, make a lot of smoke myself if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Jesse asks. “Some kind of new tech that Talon put into you?”

“Funnily enough, no,” Gabriel replies. “Woke up after the explosion and managed to drag myself out to the checkpoint where I was supposed to meet my Talon contact. Guess Uncle Sam wanted to make sure his investments paid off,” he laughs mirthlessly.

Jesse nods, chewing busily. He looks at Gabriel—older than he remembers, but otherwise the same—as he thinks.

“Y’know sweetheart,” Jesse drawls, breaking the silence. He leans back, propping his leg up and smiling sardonically at Gabriel. “Was a time when you had me quit Blackwatch, you remember that?”

Gabriel looks quizzical. “Yes?” he replies cautiously.

“I’ve quit same day before,” Jesse continues. “Seems like no one should be surprised if I do it again, don’t ya think?”

He gets up, walking over to unlock the cell door. Opening the door, he stands close to Gabriel, reaching out for his hand. “I think I’m done begging the world for forgiveness now,” he says softly, looking Gabriel in the eye. Jesse glances down at his lips, then darts back up. “Whaddya say we do what you promised all those years ago and start over again together?”

He walks out of the holding room, door wide open in his wake.

Gabriel follows.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas, [newsbypostcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard) and [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic)! 
> 
> For the record, Jesse googled "resignation letter how to" and filled in the first form he found.


End file.
